


Millennium Actor

by flavouredice



Category: Millennium Actress (2001), Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Multi, Self-Indulgent, everyone is aspec/trans/intersex/queer unless otherwise stated, millennium actress au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavouredice/pseuds/flavouredice
Summary: By the time the prestigious Kaiba Studios has declared bankruptcy in the year 2001, its key actor has already been out of the public eye for more than several decades. On the eve of the Studios' destruction, TV personality Judai Yuki and his assistant Yusei Fudo have been granted the rare opportunity to interview the reclusive actor. During the day that they spend with the man, the two learn more than has ever been previously revealed as they find themselves drawn into the unpublicized life of one Yugi Muto.





	Millennium Actor

**** It is dark. Then, stars. They burst into existence, bright, numerous, all-consuming. More and more of them, until the spaces of black between them are practically nonexistent. In the distance Earth hangs high, its form growing larger and larger. But Earth is a mere blip in the sky, rotating steadily out of view, becoming smaller and smaller and disappearing into the unfathomable distance. In its place—the Moon. Its face is craggy and pockmarked, littered with space debris and rocks. On that very surface, in one of the many craters, a space station blooms into life, its docking bay unfolding open. From afar the station would almost be unnoticeable, were it not for the parts slowly blossoming like a lotus.

Once the docking bay has completely unfurled an inner sanctum opens, revealing a rocket ship. The sound of its engines peter off into nothingness in the void of space. Inside the sanctum one can see a bridge connecting the ship and the space station, and two figures clad in puffy space suits stand together on that very bridge. One of them is turned towards the ship and the other has their hands out, beckoning.

“Do you have to go?” They call out over the station's radio comm, the volume bouncing over a faltering connection.

“It's too late,” the one closest to the ship responds. “I promised.” And they turn to leave, getting out of the reach of the first one to speak. Within the helmet, Yugi Muto's face peers from behind the fogged glass. It's difficult to see his signature dark blue eyes—which are “actually” purple, if the tabloids are to be believed—or even his wild hair, which has been pulled back from his face and tamed to fit within the helmet. “I said that I would go to them, and I think that I've made them wait long enough.” His voice is steady and solemn in the stillness of space. Yugi makes his way to the ship.

But his companion makes one last effort to stop Yugi and calls out, “You can't come back if you go!” It is, of course, too late. Yugi has already grasped the ladder that he will climb to get into the ship, but he stops to acknowledge the statement nonetheless. He looks back, and smiles.

“Thank you. For everything.”

A burst of depressurized air rushes forth in a cloud of cold white, and the bridge decouples from the ship, taking the unnamed other with it. Yugi's hand moves away from the eject button. It's done its work. A latch slowly comes down, to close the ship off from the vacuum of space.

“Don't go!” They yell as best as they can, rushing towards the ship despite the bridge folding back into the station. “Please! I've always—”

“—I've always...” Judai exhales, saying the words on the sigh of a single breath as he leans forward. His eyes are riveted on the small screen, his face shown in stark relief due to the pale glow of the CRT monitor. He has deep bags under his eyes. A few of his innumerable video cassettes can be seen nestled away in the shelf beside him. A tremble shakes the air.

The engine of the rocket ship grows louder, more explosive. A countdown commences in English. It goes backwards from ten. Yugi is already seated at the controls in the cockpit, firmly grasping the two levers that pass for a steering wheel. Back on Earth in his office, Judai holds his breath.

At the announcement of zero, the rocket shakes. Its engines come alive in bright light, exhaust combusting to provide the thrust it needs to escape the station. For a moment, Judai imagines that he too can feel the shaking, imagines what it must have been like in that cockpit. And then—he doesn't have to imagine.

The cassettes beside him topple onto his desk, the various boxes and clutter around him vibrate ominously before a few tip over onto the floor, spilling their contents. He leaps from his desk and into the shelf in his haste. Folders and other odds and ends fall down. He brings up his hands to cover his head in some half-hearted effort to prevent the worst. He can see his mug rattling by his computer, and he hopes desperately that it doesn't spill its lukewarm coffee onto his keyboard.

And as quickly as the shaking came, it goes away. The movie is still playing, its sci-fi retro future soundtrack humming in the background. The door to his office swings open, and the lights flicker on.

“An… earthquake?” Judai says while surveying his room. It's normally a mess—or an organized chaos, as he likes to refer to it—but this is ridiculous, even by his own standards. By the open door Yusei stands, his hand hovering over the light switch.

“You okay, Judai-san?”

Judai makes a wordless sound of assent and nods. He moves slowly away from the shelf behind him, hoping that nothing else falls down. Yusei searches Judai's face for a moment before he too nods.

“Okay then. Well, we're ready,” he says while leaving the room. “The van's loaded, so we can go whenever.” The door closes behind him.

Since the shelf didn't topple completely behind him, Judai figures that it's probably safe enough to move towards his desk. The film has been playing this entire time. He carefully moves his computer aside to reach the TV and the VCR player beneath it, and hits rewind. Might as well reset it now, rather than later. The screen flickers and the music turns into white noise static. Images race by, backwards and in reverse.

Yugi Muto's face, from behind his helmet. The space station in the background, with its machinery blinking on and off. The rocket with its engines exploding back into inertness. That moment on the bridge, when the depressurized air filled the space with a dense, smokey whiteness.

And then the tape goes back further. From the deep whiteness Yugi's body appears, clad in a laboratory coat. An exhale of breath brings a scene change, and the fog is reflected dangerously off the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck. Yugi is in the middle of the road, his hands thrown up. Abruptly, the scene changes. Prim and proper, dressed in a pressed shirt and serious slacks, Yugi stands in front of a black board while lecturing to a classroom full of students. His hair has been pulled back with several ties and pins and he looks… Younger, than how he did in the space ship. A quick scene change and he's sitting at a low set table, speaking to someone off screen. Even further and faster the tape rewinds.

He's running, or well, he's running backwards on the television monitor. He's much younger now, but his hair is still pulled back. Messily it seems, however, since thick clumps of blonde fall onto his face. And then another scene, dark and damp. He looks messy, unkempt. His eyes angrily track a figure that the audience has no hopes of seeing. His face is dirty, and he seems to be exceptionally cold, if the blue of his lips is any indication. Faster, even faster—the cassette rewinds.

Somehow he is floating, flying in the air and nestled amongst fluffy white clouds. He appears to be so incredibly young here. His hair is long and free-flowing. Back it goes, and again he is running. His hair is piled high with expensive clips and his yukata is terribly beautiful, dyed in the same deep blue of his eyes and embroidered with magnificent curling red dragons. He rushes back through crowds, falls into a building that, were the video playing normally, he would have been leaving in a rush. Briefly, ever so briefly, there is a moment when he is holding an umbrella protectively over his head.

This moment shifts and young Yugi is front and center, his face contorted as he yells. The camera pulls away to reveal that he is wearing a shendyt that is rather simply pleated down the front and cinched loosely at the waist with a magnificently adorned belt. Although soberly dressed in white linen, Yugi's body is plied with jewelry, thick and heavy and colorful. His neck is hidden beneath an usekh collar of silver and amethyst beads, and silver bracelets adorn his arms so thickly that in some parts his skin can not be seen. The outfit all together is handsome in this contrast, but also rather jarring. That bejeweled figure of Yugi glitters and melts away into his unadorned schoolboy phase. His hair is wild and messy about his face, his blue uniform jacket buttoned haphazardly, revealing a tank underneath. And then—blackness. The VCR player clicks off, and the cassette has been fully rewound.

***

When they get out of the tunnel, the Neo Domino skyline greets them. Tall skyscrapers burst forth, uniform and orderly, in specific sections. It's easy to see the clusters of tall buildings among the others, and the cityscape passes by as they drive on the bridge to Satellite and beyond. A plane hangs low in the mid-morning blue sky, too far to hear its engines but close enough to see the contrails that it leaves behind in its wake. They look nothing like the clouds created by the spaceship in the film, but Judai thinks of them all the same. When the plane disappears into the horizon he settles back into his seat. He can already feel himself drifting off, having gotten almost no sleep the night before while marathoning nearly every film Yugi Muto had done during his career. The library is both extensive and prolific, and has some of Judai's favorite films. Beside him Yusei drives, quiet as always.

In the bay maritime transit ships float in and signal their horns as they dock. In the distance the arched monument symbolizing Neo Domino and Satellite’s unification fills the sky. At the sound, he opens his eyes. Judai, ever the Yugi Muto fan, remembers a movie that the actor had done when he had been relatively young. He thinks about the scene where Yugi stood on the deck, his hands hanging over the railing as the ship left Japanese soil. But that had been years ago, and the ships look nothing alike. He really should have tried to get some sleep, or at least done something to calm his nerves.

The moment they reach Satellite is the moment Judai turns his attention from the scenery to his interview notes. Yusei, the Satellite native, is the only one of the two that actually knows where he's going. Satellite bears almost no resemblance to the Old Domino of Judai's youth, and his young adulthood after school had been spent in the quickly growing area of Neo Domino before it had become Neo Domino. And after all, it was Yusei who had spent his teen years motorcycle racing in Satellite, and he knew the streets like the back of his hand.

Once they leave even the outskirts of Satellite they find themselves following the coast, driving further and further away from the city proper. Neither of the two considered themselves country boys, and for all intents and purposes, Yugi Muto wasn't either. But maybe being so far from the city was how he had managed to avoid the public eye for all these years.

Near the shore is where they find the defunct branch of Kaiba Studios. There are other offices back in the city, but the main one had been all the way out in the countryside. After Yugi Muto had suddenly retired the Studios had never experienced the same kind of success, especially since shortly after Yugi had left Seto Kaiba had stopped directing due to illness. It was said that Mokuba Kaiba had never touched a film reel after his brother's death, and rumor had it that he lived in quiet, comfortable obscurity somewhere far from the city.

The sign out in front of the Studios is now weather-worn and faded, its green paint chipped and unattractive. The title  _ Kaiba Studios _ is barely left intact. Beyond the entrance construction work can both be seen and heard. Large excavators swing their booms, destroying the decrepit buildings, tearing roofing and walls apart like paper mache. Most of the buildings appear to be almost completely taken down, and the space is filled with piles of debris and rubble. From behind him, Yusei films the destruction. Judai offers the voice over.

“It is with great regret that Kaiba Studios, Ltd announces that its studio facility is obsolete and will be closed.” Yusei pans the camera over discarded props, displaying an odd assortment of broken statues and period pieces jumbled together. Some walls stand alone and solitary in the wreckage.

“This project celebrates its greatest star,” and here Judai works to keep his voice steady, “Yugi Muto, who sustained it through much of its seventy year history.” As he finishes, Judai turns to check on Yusei, only to find the camera right in his own face.

“Yusei!” Judai moves out of the shot. “This is a voiced-over section. I’m not supposed to be in the picture.”

Yusei sighs, resting the camera on his shoulder. “You know, if you had actually gotten permission to interview him sooner we wouldn’t have to be faking it right now.”

“He’s not an actor anymore!” Judai protests.

“Well then maybe you should have done this thirty years ago.” 

***

The bamboo trees are thickly spread around the mountain path. The incline is steep and the ground is terribly rocky. Yusei feels like he is dying. All of the camera equipment had been foisted upon him by one irate Judai Yuki, who had absolutely heard Yusei’s previous disparaging comment. Yusei was coming to deeply regret his earlier moment of snarkiness. Figuring that he can’t possibly suffer more, Yusei supposes that it can’t hurt to vent.

“Why the hell did he hide himself away like some kind of hermit?”

Yusei had supposed wrong. The moment he finishes his sentence is the moment he has a face full of duffle bag. That’s all it takes to knock Yusei over, who had already been struggling to stay up. Judai offers no help. This is clearly not Yusei’s day, so clearly he must continue to tempt fate. 

“Listen,” he pants out, “no matter how big of a star he was, he’s gotta be over seventy by now.” Judai continues out in head, undeterred. “I mean… he’s old!”    

They walk under a rock grove and on the other side they see the outcropping of a traditional sort of house, complete with shoji windows and Higashiyama style architecture. There is an engawa circling the house. The bamboo forest here is thinner than it was around the path, letting them see the building rather than hiding the view.

“Look!” Judai exclaims in genuine excitement, his previous annoyance all but forgotten. “There it is!”

Yusei tries to temper his boss’ enthusiasm. “Hey, let’s not get too excited, yeah? I mean, we don’t even know what he looks like now. He could be completely unrecognizable for all we know.”

Judai whips around. With steely conviction he says, “He’ll never grow old. Yugi Muto is immortal!” And with that he marches towards the front door, leaving Yusei behind. It’s short work to stand in front of the house. His hand shakes as he goes to knock. He didn’t see a doorbell at all, but he figures that he would have had trouble steadying his hand to press it. This is it. The moment of truth. Fortunately enough for Judai, the door opens without any effort on his part. Small mercies. That is, until he gets a good look at the person on the other side.  

Mokuba Kaiba has aged incredibly well, and apparently lives closer to Neo Domino than any of the rumors could have predicted. His hair is still remarkably dark and long, as wild as it is in the photos of him from when he was younger. The wrinkles on his face are deep laugh lines, and his eyes have not lost any of their rich color. This is all well and good, but Judai had been expecting  _ Yugi Muto _ , and  _ not _ Mokuba Kaiba.

They stare at each other for several long moments. It feels like hours have been compressed into seconds and perspiration makes Judai’s bangs uncomfortably tacky. He has so many questions, and he can’t even voice any of them. Besides him Yusei gasps like a man that has never known how to breathe until that very moment. 

“Nii-san!” Mokuba calls over his shoulder. Judai and Yusei share a Look.

They leave their shoes in the genkan and feel decidedly out of place. The furniture is all carefully polished wood. The tatami mats are miraculously clean with not a scuff in sight. A grandfather clock ticks at the end of the hall. 

Mokuba takes them further in and to a small living room. As soon as they get settled, Judai pulls out a large stack of magazines from his duffle, some of them glossier than the others. He carefully spreads them out on the chabudai in the center of the room. Each magazine is a spread with Yugi Muto’s face, at varying ages. They’re interviews and pieces from various points of his long acting career. The older ones, the ones where Yugi’s extraordinarily young face peers forth on the covers, are remarkably well-maintained. Yusei thinks that he sees Mokuba raise a disbelieving eyebrow at the sight, but he can't tell for sure with how Mokuba’s thick bangs obscure his forehead.

“Does Muto-san live here alone?” Judai asks as Mokuba sets two cups of tea on the table. Somehow he already had some prepared for the exact moment that they had settled in. There is a rich floral smell wafting up from the tea. 

“Yep,” Mokuba says. “Besides with me, that is. For years it’s just been us and Nii-san’s games. Well, he’s also got the garden. In fact,” he points at the cup in Judai’s hand, “that’s his own homemade herbal tea. Pretty cool, huh?” The expression on Judai’s face at learning he’s drinking tea handmade by The Yugi Muto can be described at best as rapturous. It’s like his birthday and every other holiday at once. 

Yusei, on the other hand, grimaces from behind the rim of his cup. He sets it down, and turns to focus instead on setting up the lights, the camera, and the muslin screens that will serve as the backdrops for the interview. Yusei had never developed a taste for herbal teas, but that was even more astringent than the usual store brands. 

“You should consider yourselves lucky that he’s even agreed to let you guys interview him.”

Judai is quick to interject. “It’s a great honor to be here, Kaiba-san.” At this Mokuba smiles, almost like Judai has told a particularly funny joke.

“You said that you had something to give him?”  

“Ah, yes.” Judai puts his cup down. 

“You know,  _ normally _ the whole Earth has to move before he’ll meet someone new.” A husuma divider opens with the telltale creak of wood.

“What has to move, Mokuba?”

“Why, the Earth does, Nii-san.” 

Judai has literally never moved faster in his life. Ever. Bar no other occasion. His face bypasses a light blush at a racing gallop. A ripe plum tomato would even fail to compare to the very shade of red that Judai’s face becomes. 

“The earthquake,” Yugi Muto continues, oblivious to Judai’s dilemma.

“That was quite something, wasn’t it?” Mokuba agrees. 

“I thought my time had come,” Yugi says, finally stepping into the room proper. While Mokuba had kept his color into his later years, Yugi had not. His hair is entirely silver, his eyebrows included. Even his eyes, which had enchanted the public with their deep violet depths, are a lighter, softer shade. His hair has somehow retained a version of the wild style that he had sported in his youth, but it is nowhere near as striking without the different colors. Yugi turns his attention towards Judai and Yusei, inclining his head.

“I hope the journey here treated you well. I’m Muto Yugi—as you probably already know.” 

It takes Judai a while to form actual sentences, spending several moments stuttering. “This is truly a great day, and we are most deeply honored that you have invited us into your home.” Judai bows deeply, embarrassed, and he stays there for a beat longer than truly necessary.

Yugi laughs. It’s soft. “Well,” he says. “There’s no need to be so formal! Please, don’t worry yourself over that.”

Yugi waves his hand in their direction while he settles down on the other side of the table. The other two sit as well. Judai fumbles for a moment before pulling out a card from the inner breast pocket of his jacket. It’s a plain white business card with English text and accompanying hiragana. He hands it over to Yugi. 

“So you’re from studio… Rootasu?” 

“It means lotus,” Yusei pipes up from his spot behind Judai.

“Oh!” Yugi smiles while looking up from the card. “I love lotuses.”

“Yes, I know.” Judai awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, twirling his hair. “Thus… the name of our studio.” 

Rather than acknowledge that statement Yugi looks out the shoji window behind him, at the garden around the house. “They’ll be flowering soon. It’s almost that time of year.” Yugi looks back at the two. “Do you know what they symbolize in poetry?”

Judai startles, but it’s Yusei that answers. “Simple purity.” Yugi nods, evidently pleased, if his smile is anything to go by.

“Mokuba mentioned earlier that you have something for me?”

“Oh. Oh, yes! I do.” From the duffle bag that he had produced the magazines from earlier Judai pulls out a large object swaddled in white linen. He places it on the table and slides it towards Yugi. “I’m sorry,” Judai says, “I’ve kept this for you until the day that I could find you.” Yusei moves to peer over Judai’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at whatever  _ this _ is. 

Yugi picks it up and begins to unwrap. And then stops, almost as quickly as he had started. A glint of gold shines from between his hands. For a while, he says nothing.

“I’d put this out of my mind for years.”

Judai leans forward, impatient, words bubbling behind his teeth. “Was that… a key to something important?”

Yugi completely unwraps the item, letting the cloth fall to the floor. Held in his fingers is a pyramid made of solid gold, its Eye of Wadjet staring back at him. “It’s the key to the most important thing there is.” Yugi turns his gaze back to Judai, his eyes sharp. “Thank you, Yuki-kun.” He pauses. “But where on Earth did you find this?”

Judai flushes in embarrassment. “Uh.” He states, ever so helpfully. “Well. You see.” He brings a hand up to brush his hair out of his face. “Many years ago someone at Kaiba Studios found it.” Yugi has gone back to looking at the pyramid.

“I never thought that I’d hold this in my hands again.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Yusei interjects, “what exactly is it?”

In answer, Yugi holds up the pyramid by its chain, letting it hang. “This,” he says, “is the Millennium Puzzle.” 

A tremble shakes the air. It continues to shake, and dust and soot fall from the rafters. Yugi drops the pyramid. Judai rushes to press himself against the wall, but Yugi and Yusei stay where they are. The tea cups jump off the table, spilling their contents all over the tatami mats. The earthquake lasts longer than the one in the morning, but not by much. As the shaking subsides Yugi looks at Judai. 

“I suppose that’s the Earth trying to tell us to get started.” 

***

Yugi has a photo album in his lap. He runs a hand over its cover before looking up into the camera. The white harshness of the studio lights make his eyes seem to be an even paler shade of blue than they already are. 

“I was born during an earthquake, you know,” he says, apropos of nothing. “Nineteen twenty seven, Kita Tango.” Judai has to visibly restrain himself from speaking, and Yusei nudges a foot hard into the calf closest to him, refusing to take his hands off from their place on the camera. “My mother used to tell me that my father had wanted a child. He died though, so it was just her and my Ji-chan after that. And the shop. We did pretty well for ourselves, for a place that only sold games.” Amazingly there are photos of infant Yugi in the album. Black and white, extraordinarily grainy. His mother is attractive, but somber in all the photos. Her hair, however, looks nothing like her son’s. It’s the photos where Yugi’s grandfather is holding him that you can see where he inherited that mess of a mane. There is one key detail that bothers Yusei about all the baby photos. 

“Not to be rude or anything, but didn’t you used to have blonde hair?” This startles a laugh out of Yugi. 

“I certainly wasn’t born blonde, no. I used to bleach my bangs because I thought it made me look like… Made me look cool, I suppose. My hair was naturally that dark blue-black—sort of like yours, Fudo-kun.”  

Judai waffles between letting Yugi continue to ramble about his hair, or returning the interview back to the prepared questions and the planned script. Yugi’s hair secrets (was it gel, was it product, was it natural?) had been the matter of minor debate after each release of the films that he starred in. It had been a recurring conversation when he was still in the public eye, and Judai had not been spared from curiosity.

Yugi hums, and it seems he’s thinking. His eyes are distracted, and his gaze is directed off to the side. “I think it would be an understatement to say that I grew up in a… politically tumultuous period. But at the time games were more important to me, I guess.” 

Yusei snorts loudly from his position besides the camera. In the moments that it takes Judai to register the noise his faces filters through various shades of puce. Yugi’s gaze has focused in on Yusei, curious. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just—well. I’ve read some of your essays. The idea that at some point you  _ weren’t _ politically active? It’s just so funny to me.” Yugi smiles. It’s small, and it’s beautiful.

“A fan of my other work? What a pleasant surprise.” 

“I, uh,” Yusei flushes while looking down. “I read a lot of your stuff while doing my joint film and philosophy degree.”

“Now you’re reminding me of Anzu. She was the go-getter. It always felt like we were running to keep up with her. If she had something to say you’d better hope that you didn’t get in her way.” Yugi says, extraordinarily fond. 

“That’s quite the compliment. To be compared to Mazaki-san.”

Judai scratches at his chin, looking the most conflicted that Yusei has ever seen him. “I’d hate to break up this conversation, but we really should get back to the interview. If you would, Muto-san?”

“Of course.”

“Right.” There’s the sound of rustling papers on Judai’s side and the clink of china on Yugi’s. “When were you discovered by the studio? It’s always been a bit difficult to find details on your earlier years.” 

“It was sometime in the early 40’s, I think. I had just started high school.” Yugi’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “I had to wear this navy blue gakuran that I remember my mother hated. You see, back when I was young, those had been new. Not like it is nowadays. And it really bothered Oka-san to see kids walking around in Japanese Army uniforms.” Yugi waves a hand in front of his face, embarrassed. “It was while I was going to school one day that Kaiba Gozaburo approached me.” The photo album is opened to a page with several shots of Yugi in his blue jacket, and his friends. At the top of the page are the words  _ Domino High, 1942 _ .

He points to the girl next to him in the photos. “There’s Anzu, of course.” His hand moves to a boy whose hair looks white. “Bakura Ryou. He went to England to stay with his father. It would have been too dangerous for him to stay throughout the war.” There are two more boys in the pictures. “This is Honda Hiroto, and this guy was my best friend. Jounouchi Katsuya. Or Jou, for short.”

“I remember that Kaiba-san took Oka-san and myself to his house, to get her approval—”

“Is there nothing that I can say?” Gozaburo Kaiba says, his face disbelieving. He had stopped his pacing to direct his question at one Yusuki Muto. Gozaburo’s eyebrows are drawn together in concern, and when Yugi looks up he can see a slight quiver dance through his mustache. 

“Nothing,” Yusuki says with an air of finality, “you say will change my mind.” Her hair is tightly pulled back, making her face look severe. It’s a light brown, and nowhere near as dark as her son’s. He’s young enough that he hasn’t yet dyed his bangs blonde. Yugi sits next to her, his hands folded on his lap. He looks at her from under his eyelashes. 

“My mother,” he starts weakly, “thinks that being an actor is a dubious profession.” Gozaburo makes a noise under his breath, disbelieving. He’s not used to being told  _ no _ . 

“Muto-san—”

“Dubious!” Judai interjects. Yugi pauses in retelling his story. “She really called it that?” Yugi nods.

“So Kaiba-san says—”

“Muto-san, our new film will be set right here in Domino. It’s to show our nation the hardworking students and to show the bright future of Japan. We have another film planned for Manchuria, to support the troops overseas. Your son could easily be in either of these. Don’t you want to encourage the people?” Gozaburo brings his fist down into his other hand’s upturned palm. Throughout his impassioned speech he has been gesticulating wildly. “Surely Yugi-kun wants to be of service to his country? He may be too young yet for the draft, but he can do something.” 

Yugi startles, looking at the elder Kaiba. His fingers worry the hems of his jacket sleeves. “Um…” 

Yusuki laughs. “Ha! This child is too timid to be an actor. He’ll settle down and run the shop, just like his grandfather.”  

This only serves to enrage Gozaburo even further. “How does running a game shop help the nation?” 

“Is it not serving the best interests of Japan to ensure that local industries are maintained and flourishing?”

Yugi tugs on the sleeve of his mother’s kimono, only to have his hand batted away. His cheeks are faintly pink. Yusuki and Gozaburo stare at each other, neither willing to look away.

Unable to stand the tension any further, Yugi stands up and heads to the door out of Gozaburo’s lavishly furnished Western-style living room. Behind him, his mother looks shocked. Kaiba says nothing. 

Again, Judai interrupts. “I thought that your first film was  _ The Search for the Pharaoh _ , released in 1947?”

“Mm, no.” Yugi purses his lips. “No, my first film was that piece with Gozaburo Kaiba. It wasn’t very long, nor… professional. It was a fluff piece. Imperialist propaganda. It was never even finished.” Yugi shrugs his shoulders. “The only memorable part was trying to get Jou to work with Seto.”

At this, both Yusei and Judai perk up. “What do you mean? Did Kaiba-san direct this film?” Judai asks.

“Oh no. He didn’t direct anything until his father passed away and he took over the studios. He worked with us as an actor. That was the only time we were on ‘equal’ footing, as it were. He was always better suited to directing than acting though.”

“And when was this?”

“Before we graduated, but I couldn’t really give you an exact date for it.”

“In the obits it says Kaiba Gozaburo died in Manchukuo. Was he working on the other film that he mentioned?” 

“At some point during school Kaiba-san had pulled Seto out, and they both went to China to film. I know that it was right before the end of the war, and I know that Seto was in charge of the studios when he came back. I don’t really know much more from before he returned to Japan though.”

Judai lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. This could have been exclusive information about Kaiba Seto’s first directing gig, but more than that, he is burning with curiosity. Yugi hears the noise, and laughs a little.

“I know that feeling! Sometimes it was so hard to get Seto to tell me anything. I feel like I get more answers praying to his urn now than I did when he was alive.”

Yusei startles. “His urn?”

“Don't be rude,” Judai chastises, while also doing a bit of mental math. It's been well over twenty years by this point, so why wasn't it…? 

Somehow hearing his thoughts, Yugi responds. “He asked to not have it put in the family grave. He wanted to be at the shrine.” Judai’s reaction is almost instantaneous. 

“So then, is the shrine in the house? Would we be able to see it?” Yusei sticks his foot hard in Judai’s calf, yet again. It’s no surprise that a Yugi Muto fan is also a Seto Kaiba fan.

“Mokuba could take you to it. I’d like to sit here for a little bit. And besides, I saw him this morning.” 

Mokuba, who had been sketching quietly on the other side of the room, perks up. “Are you alright, Nii-san?”

“I’m just a little tired.”

“Alright. Come with me. It’s just down the hallway.” They go back to the hallway they came in. The gakuran is down to the right, their shoes by the door. The furniture is still all carefully polished wood. The tatami mats are still clean with not a scuff in sight. The grandfather clock still ticks at the other end of the hall, in the direction that they’re going. There’s still the sensation of feeling acutely out of place. Mokuba takes them further into the house, and takes them into a side room. 

The tamadana shrine is high off the ground, set on a little miya. There are no visible nails or ornamentation, and it is simply made from what appears to be white hinoki wood. There are tablets presumably containing the names of deceased family members, as well as several photos. Recognizable on the shrine are the faces of Yugi’s grandfather and mother. His mother is younger than in the photos where Yugi is an infant, and there is an unfamiliar man standing next to her. Also at the shrine are photos of Kaiba Seto—one from when he was young, and one from probably around when he passed, considering how thin he looks. There are no photos of Kaiba Gozaburo. 

Besides these photos is a bright blue urn, with three names carefully engraved on the front. To far right is Seto Kaiba’s name, the characters a stark white. On the left of his name is Yugi Muto, and to the left of that is Mokuba Kaiba. The latter two names, unlike Seto’s, are painted in a bright red. Judai and Yusei linger over the urn for a few moments before looking at the rest of the shrine.  

In front of the miya is a hanging shimenawa, and there are offerings of herbal tea and white lilies in unglazed cups with tiny chopsticks. It is a very well-maintained shrine, somehow cleaner than the rest of the house. The offerings must have been from the morning prayers. 

Judai and Yusei move towards the shrine, and Mokuba follows them. At their looks Mokuba says with a laugh, “It can’t hurt to pray some more.” And so they do. It is several moments of kneeling in front of the miya before Mokuba picks up a still half full pot of tea and pours some into a new cup. When he picks up the pot there is a heavy indentation in the mat. He settles back down in front of the shrine, and seems to think for a moment. “You can go back to Nii-san. I’d like to stay here for a bit.” 

Not knowing what else to do, the two leave the altar and head back to the living room. Judai is uncharacteristically quiet, the first time he’s been like that the entire trip here. It unnerves Yusei a bit.

“Did you want to get some footage about the shrine or…?”

Judai shakes his head and says nothing. When they get back to Yugi it’s Yusei again who speaks.

“Kaiba-san decided to stay by the altar for a bit. We can continue the interview if you’re ready.”

“I’m good to go.” The two get settled on their side of the table.           

Judai flips his notes over, quickly scanning the page. He looks at it for a bit before speaking. “The… Millennium Puzzle. When did you get it? Where? I know that it appeared in your first—sorry, second—film, but was it just a film prop? It’s personal significance aside, it seems odd that a prop would be made out of solid gold.”

The pyramid sits on the chabudai, its polished surface gleaming in the light. 

“It sort of found me, actually. After graduation.” 

***

There’s the particularly wet sound of a snowball splattering on the side of a brick wall. Next to the imprint left by the snow is a soggy-looking poster.  _ National Health Week _ — _ Your Nation Needs You _ it declares with a uniformed boy standing in front of a red rising sun. Yugi, dressed for the last time in his navy gakuran, bends down to make another slushy ball. He holds off on throwing it as a couple passes by. An automobile rumbles slowly and carefully down the street and he turns to look at it, taking in its sleek black polish and metal body. 

He should have probably gone home a while ago. Graduation had finished, and he and his friends had split up all to go to their own individual celebrations. He just… feels weird. And cold. What with the uncharacteristic snow and unseasonably cold weather this late into March. 

Yugi lets the slush slip between his fingers and starts to run. His steps kick up murky grey flecks of snow. While he’s running, he passes by two men that look decidedly out of place. 

“Um,” Judai says, reaching a hand out towards the young Yugi’s retreating back. Yusei follows that figure dutifully with his camera.

“What exactly are we filming?” Yusei asks from his position besides Judai. 

“Muto-san,” Judai whimpers, completely ignoring Yusei.

But Yusei will not be ignored, and he presses. “This is more than a little weird, boss.”

“Hush!” 

Another man passes by Judai and Yusei. His jacket seems to be much larger than he is, and a heavy bag sits on his back. His box braids are tied up in a high bun, and they look almost reddish in the light. From behind though it’s hard to get a better look. In his haste he bumps into Yugi and the teen is knocked down. 

“I’m so sorry,” the man says while extending a hand to Yugi. From their position they can only see this man’s side profile. His eye is as auburn as his hair—a dark brown that looks red in the afternoon sunlight. A shock of white-blonde hair erupts from his temple, and streaks of that color run through his braids. Starting at his fringe a stripe of pale skin runs down his face, through his left brow and eye, and stops along his cheek. Some of his eyebrow and eyelashes in that patch of skin are the same color as the hair at his temple. Yugi is seeing exactly what Judai and Yusei are, and he continues to stare at the man offering him a helping hand. In the hand that he had not offered to Yugi he is holding a large rectangle covered by dark cloth. 

“I was, uh, in a bit of a hurry.” He says awkwardly, and he smiles in a self-deprecating manner. In that half smile they see a meticulously maintained set of straight teeth. Whoever he is, he must have come from money to have that sort of dental care. Yugi grasps the man’s hand and stands up, still staring. 

Judai speaks, concern coloring his voice. “Something is going on between them.” He worries his thumb between his teeth, hiding behind a wooden utility pole, leaning forward in keen interest. Yusei keeps his camera trained on the two.

“Do you know who that man is? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in photos with Muto-san before.”

Judai starts to answer, before he is interrupted.

“He’s not here!”

“I saw him go that way!” Several voices yell, the sound getting closer and closer. And just like that, the man is off. He vaults over a nearby fence off the side of the road and into the dark trees beyond. Two policemen turn the corner of a side street and pass by Yugi, coming to a confused halt as they look both ways of the street, upon seeing no retreating figure. The taller of the two cops turns his gaze, unfriendly and assessing, to Yugi. 

“ _ Holy shit _ ,” Yusei gasps, quietly and with pronounced feeling. “That's Ushio Tetsu.” Judai turns a questioning eye to Yusei. “He used to be a Sector security officer back before Satellite was connected to Neo Domino. Never met a bigger asshole in my life. I mean—he looks young here, but I'm sure of it.” They both turn their attention back to the scene between Yugi and the police officers.

Ushio Tetsu had graduated three years before Yugi, and he had honestly thought that there would have been fairly few job prospects for the ill-tempered bully. Perhaps that was why Yugi was little surprised then to see that Ushio had become a police officer. And that apparently he spent his time on the job chasing after men that were as short and unassuming as Yugi. It seemed few things had changed about the older man, even with the intervening years. Well, one thing had changed, at the very least. Now Ushio had a thick scar running down the left side of his face.

“Muto,” he says slowly. “Did you see a man come this way? Carrying a bag and something in a cloth?”

Yugi avoids Ushio’s eyes, instead turning his gaze to the ground. The snow is thin and watery, already melting. It’s impossible to see footprints in the mess. Closing his own eyes Yugi points down the way he just came, towards where Judai and Yusei are standing behind the utility pole. 

“He ran that way.” Yugi says in a surprisingly steady voice. The other cop takes off at a racing start, but Ushio waits for a beat. Eventually he follows his co-worker. Ushio passes by Judai and Yusei without incident. 

“What?” Judai mutters, watching as Yugi lifts himself over the same fence that man from before had jumped over. He desperately searches the ground for any indication of where the man went, and even though the snow here is less trampled than the road, it is still melting at an alarming pace. He makes his best guess at what are vague footprint shapes and heads off. It doesn’t take long to find the man since he’s out of breath and panting, supporting himself against one of the many trees. He looks up at Yugi, questioningly, but also faintly hopeful. 

“I sent them another way,” Yugi starts. The man’s lips form a small  _ o _ shape. “I know, or, well, knew Ushio. And if anything I figured he was trying to make your life difficult.” He says, awkwardness forcing him to rub the back of his neck and laugh at the ground. Finally the man speaks up. 

“I appreciate the gesture…” His voice trails off.

Yugi starts. “Oh! Ah, Muto Yugi.” He bows briefly.

“Thank you, Yugi.” With a flourish the man sticks out his free hand. “My name is Atem Shaltout.” For the second time in several minutes Yugi is appreciating how warm Atem’s hand is, despite the chill. Belatedly Yugi realizes that his own must be rather cold, since he had been making snowballs just earlier. 

“I’m afraid this may be a little forward Yugi, but would it be at all possible to impose on you for a little while longer? I was hoping that I could get out of this weather.”

Yugi, ever the polite Yugi, nods his agreement.

***

 To say that Yusuki had been surprised when Yugi came home with Atem would be an understatement. But once he had explained the situation and with some helpful cajoling from one Sugoroku Muto the two found themselves in the back of the game shop. The irori was on the ground floor, after all. Atem had looked absolutely delighted when first entering the store but had visibly restrained himself from speaking while Yugi had occupied his mother. 

In the back Atem slips out of his oversized jacket and settles down while Yugi brings a pot of green tea to a boil over the irori. It’s warmer here than outside, by the hearth. With an appreciative eye Yugi admires the silvery grey suit that Atem is wearing. The jacket is double-breasted with three buttons, although only one of them is fastened. The darkened red tie at Atem’s neck picks up the same shades of his eyes and hair, and the color highlights Atem’s skin warmly. Yugi, who was still dressed in his gakuran, felt decidedly underdressed. 

It is Atem that speaks first while Yugi is pouring them both a cup of tea. 

“Again, I cannot express my thanks for your help.” Yugi notes with more than a little fascination the formalness of Atem’s speech. It’s almost like he’s reading from a grammar text. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why was Ushio chasing after you?”

Atem tilts his head. “The large man with the scar?” Yugi nods. “Well. I was trying to see if I could find a temporary job because I’ve run into some… financial difficulty. And while I was asking around I suppose someone must have reported me to the police because the next thing I knew that man was yelling after me for being  _ suspicious _ and  _ disturbing the peace _ . I suppose that’s all they really needed to justify trying to rough me up a bit.”

Yugi makes a noise of distressed agreement. “Yeah, Ushio never really needed much of an excuse to go after people. And now that he’s a cop…” Yugi shrugs at this. “You saw how that goes.” 

“I did indeed.” Atem takes a tentative sip of the tea and a flicker of appreciation breezes over his face. He takes a larger gulp. Yugi had been replaying what Atem had said, mind catching on the words like a magpie with gold. 

“So… you need a job? And maybe a place to stay?”

“I don't mean to be too forward Yugi,” Atem starts. It's with good humor that Yugi notes Atem leaning forward, excitement coloring his words. “But is this your family's shop? And it's a game shop?” 

Yugi nods, and not without considerable confusion.

“My fath—or, well, my family back home runs a game company.” Before Atem can continue Sugoroku Muto’s voice interrupts.

“Shaltout, you said your last name was?” Jii-chan’s gaze is alight with a mischievous twinkle when he walks into the back room and stands by the irori. Atem’s eyes flicker to Yugi before resting on the older Muto. He nods, short but firm. “Shaltout as in Shaltout of the  _ 'alaAaeb Shaltout _ company? The one in Egypt?” Sugoroku presses, his voice becoming more excited with each passing moment. His pronunciation did not sound the smoothest—at least it didn’t to Yugi’s untrained ear—but Atem perks right up when Sugoroku mentions it.

“Yes!” he responds with obvious enthusiasm. Yugi shares the sentiment—what are the odds? “You’ve heard of us then, I take it?” 

Sugoroku comes to settle down by Yugi and Atem, and Yugi goes to get a cup to fill with tea for his grandfather. He can already sense the impending hours-long conversation. “I’ll have you know I’ve been to Egypt,” he says while pointing a wagging finger. “Your family had some of the most beautiful senet boards that I’ve seen.” A dreamy quality has taken over the older Muto’s voice, and Yugi waves the cup of tea in front of his grandfather’s face to bring him back to the present, as it were. 

“Hopefully those weren’t the only ones you looked at?” 

“No, no, no,” Sugoroku waves his hand. “I remember your mehen and aseb boards-and that beautiful ivory hounds and jackals set.” He pauses to take a sip of the now lukewarm tea. “If I could have I would have bought it all.” At this Atem flashes a warm smile, and Yugi sees those ridiculously white and straight teeth again. 

“We’ve expanded our wares actually—can’t exactly offer only kemetic games,” Atem says with a flourish and a wink. 

“I’m assuming,” Sugoroku says with an air of confidence, “that’s why you’re in Japan. But my boy, during the war?” 

“It wasn’t one of my smartest choices, no.” Atem tempers. “And not even intentional on my part! I just… sort of ended up here?” 

“And how exactly do you  _ accidentally _ end up in Japan?”

Atem makes a half-aborted gesture to pat the covered box next to him, the very same that he had been carrying when he had run into Yugi earlier. He hasn’t let it stray very far from his person. “I’m trying to track down a lead on… an artifact.” Atem hedges, looking briefly at Yugi before turning fully to the elder Muto. “What was the nature of your visit to Egypt?”

It’s Sugoroku’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Well,” he says before taking a long sip of the tea that Yugi had handed to him, “I was quite the gambler in my youth, you see.” Yugi, who has heard the stories of his grandfather’s younger years (both the sober versions and the versions that came up the deeper into the sake bottle his grandfather got), turns his attention fully towards Atem. One fine eyebrow, the one with the stripe of white-blonde hair going through it, slowly inches up Atem’s forehead.  

“I’m assuming that you’ve heard of the Shrine of the Game of Darkness, Atem-kun?” 

“I know that it’s a good way to die, especially if you tried forcing your way into the tombs in the Valley of the Kings.” Atem gestures at Sugoroku. “And yet you live! Miracles upon miracles, for a tomb raider.” 

“I would owe my success to my guides, rather than to myself.”

“And they were both Egyptians?”

“What better guides than the locals?”

“I’m just… surprised.” Atem hesitates. “Why would they help you desecrate the tomb of the Nameless Pharaoh?”

“Why, for the promise of gold!” 

Atem snorts unattractively. “But of course! And what kind of pay were you offering to convince a couple of men to follow you?” 

“An even split amongst the three of us, and since they were brothers,” Sugoroku waves the hand with the tea cup broadly, “they were assured a majority of the cut.” 

“And… what did you find?”  

Sugoroku hums deeply, thoughtfully. It’s the dramatic pause that Yugi’s grandfather has been able to perfect over multiple retellings. “Absolutely nothing!” He says with an inordinate amount of cheer for someone admitting that an entire venture of theirs was a complete wash. 

“Absolutely… nothing?” Atem echoes. Yugi sees him make the same half-aborted gesture towards the covered box next to him that he had just done moments before. Sugoroku laughs, deep from his belly. 

“I might have found a few gold pieces… but then my memory’s not like it used to be.” As Sugoroku taps his forehead Atem’s hand moves atop the covered box as he keeps his eyes trained on Yugi’s grandfather. 

“These gold pieces,” he repeats, his voice taking on a strange clipped quality, “what did they look like? Hypothetically?” 

“They might have looked like puzzle pieces. Hypothetically.” 

Yugi interrupts before Sugoroku can string Atem further along. “Yes, Atem-kun,” he says with a gusty sight. “Ji-chan did find a few gold puzzle pieces. He’s only ever kept one of them though.”

“Yugi!” Sugoroku exclaims. “Where’s the fun if you’re just going to spoil my stories?” Before Sugoroku can ruffle Yugi’s hair he ducks his head and goes to find the teapot. Both Atem and his grandfather have finished their cups, and it’s an excuse to get up. 

“Do you really want to bore Atem-kun with your silly tales?”

“On the contrary—I’d say he looks rather interested!”

Atem gives a wan smile. “I’m just shocked to hear that someone somehow managed to enter the tomb of  _ the _ Nameless Pharaoh and lives to tell the tale.” 

“That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?” Yugi interjects as he settles back down and pours more tea. “Technically they’re nameless, but doesn’t being referred to by a title sort of act as like… a name?” 

The blink that Atem gives Yugi is slow. “Yes, in a way.” He inclines his head. Yugi tries to laugh away his embarrassment. 

“Sorry, it was just a thought—”

“I mean, a pharaoh would have absolutely responded to their titles, but does being a, a  _ nameless _ pharaoh count as a proper title?” 

Either Atem is very good at humoring him, or he seems to be genuinely interested in the direction in which Yugi has taken their conversation. Regardless, whatever they were going to continue discussing gets interrupted.

“That’s all well and good,” a voice says from outside the room’s entrance before its owner appears from the front of the shop. Yusuki looks only marginally less stern than she did in Kaiba Gozaburo’s house, but only marginally. “But legends and dead-end myths,” at this Atem seems to bristle, “don’t explain why I have some foreign stranger with the cops on his tail in my home.” She directs her statements towards Yugi, and although her voice stays even, it almost feels like she had been yelling. 

“Oka-san, you know exactly what Ushio’s like.”

“Regardless of what he’s like, the fact of the matter is that if he keeps looking for this  _ boy _ ,” she gestures at Atem dismissively, and if he bristles anymore he will become the first human-porcupine hybrid that Yugi has ever seen, “it will become our problem.” 

“Yusuki.” Sugoroku cuts in.

“Otou-san.”

“Would you really just kick this boy out on the streets?”

Finally Yusuki looks at Atem. She must see the same straight teeth that Yugi saw, and the fine-pressed Western-style suit. “He’s going to cause us a great deal of trouble.” 

“Sending an English-educated—” Sugoroku turns his gaze to Atem, waiting for a confirmation.

“London,” he says.

“Right. An English-educated Egyptian man into the hands of the Japanese police is as good as a death sentence, in this climate. And you  _ know _ that, Yusuki.” 

Yusuki and Sugoroku stare at each other for some time—Sugoroku with the long-enduring patience of a grandfather, and Yusuki with the well-practiced Silence of Disapproval of mothers’ the globe over. After Yugi’s nervous third cup of uncomfortably cool tea, his mother speaks. 

“He goes in the shed, and I better not see him causing any trouble. The minute,  _ the very minute _ he gets brought in or someone comes asking around,  _ we don’t know him _ .” She waves her pointer finger threateningly at Yugi. “It’s about time you took responsibility for something, so it’s your job to take care of him. I don’t care what you do—if you keep him locked up in the storage or cleaning the house or dusting the hundreds of useless knick knacks that your grandfather has—it doesn’t matter so long as you  _ keep him out of my sight _ .” As soon as she’s done talking she whips out of the room in a flurry of fabric, her kimono fluttering behind her as if a strong breeze had picked it up. For a few moments Yugi is too shocked to speak, too surprised to even acknowledge the fact that his grandfather has just won an argument against his mother for what feels like the first time in his life. 

And then he turns to look at Atem.

***

That evening finds Yugi slinking around the house as if he doesn’t live there. He avoids the kitchen and living space like the plague, and he doesn’t speak up during dinner. It’s a quiet, tense affair. The very minute his mother retires to her room is the minute he springs into action, collecting leftovers and extra blankets. Sugoroku smiles encouragingly when Yugi passes by the living room, but quickly turns back to his solo game of mahjong. 

A brief shiver wracks Yugi’s body as he steps outside, and he quickly rushes to the side shed. He closes the door firmly behind him, trying to keep the heat inside. From behind the snow covered fence encircling the property, Judai and Yusei pop-up, the camera firmly focused on the shed.

“It takes guts to shelter someone like that,” Yusei says while trying to inch closer towards the door. Judai follows closely behind.

“Who is this guy?” Judai whispers, as if anyone else will overhear them. “I’ve never seen him in any of the photos documenting Muto-san’s youth!” It’s easy work to get into the shed, and neither of the occupants notice them when they walk in. The chill that seemed to follow them doesn’t even ruffle Yugi’s hair. 

While Atem fumbles with his wooden chopsticks to pick at the rice and poke at the grilled fish, Yugi finds himself looking at the box more and more, with undiluted curiosity. 

“May I…” he starts to say and stop, as his hand hovers over the box. Atem looks up, several pickles shoved into his mouth and a high blush on his cheeks. He looks suitably abashed at being caught with his mouth so full. 

“Yes?” he says once he’s quickly finished the vegetables in his mouth.

“May I see what’s in the box?” 

“It’s not finished, so don’t get too excited.” Atem unwraps the box, perhaps unfairly and agonizingly slow after the day that Yugi has had. From beneath the dark fabric Yugi can see a bright gold shine, and his mouth drops open as Atem reveals a mini chest with designs and characters along the sides, none of which Yugi recognizes. Atem’s smirk is unrepentantly smug as he opens the chest. Yugi scoots closer, and peers inside.

What seems to be hundreds of pieces of gold is hidden inside, and Yugi can’t help the gasp that escapes him. He has never in his life seen so much gold and in such odd shapes as well—

“They’re puzzle pieces!” He says wonderingly, eyes whipping up to look at Atem’s face. And Yugi, with his quick mind and his quick fingers, puts together the puzzle of Atem’s actions around the irori. “The nameless pharaoh?” He asks abruptly, leaping several bounds in his mind and only saying part of the end result.

But it seems that Atem has miraculously followed Yugi along, and he responds in kind. “What if I told you that I’ve been searching for all the pieces?” 

“I would say that it was an incredible coincidence that you found yourself at my Ji-chan’s shop.”

“You and I both know that there’s always a little bit of luck involved with games, Yugi.”

“Yes,” Yugi hesitates, “but that would be an extraordinary amount of luck.”

Atem’s eyes are a bright red with the sheaves of moonlight breaking through the the clouds and into the room. “You would not believe how long I’ve been searching for the missing pieces—how many leads I’ve followed, how many dead-ends I’ve found myself at,” Atem rolls a few of the pieces in his hand, before placing them in Yugi’s palms. “And the tip that seems to have born fruit is the one Ahmet and Mushura gave me.” 

“Who are they?”

“Two men that had claimed to get into the tomb with the help of a Japanese gambler.” The smile that Atem gives Yugi curls around his right cheek, a dimple in one cheek but not in the other. Yugi tentatively smiles back. 

“And I’m assuming that Japanese gambler would be my Jii-chan?”

Atem’s gaze slants briefly towards the floor before coming back to meet Yugi’s. “It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve come to a dead end, but I’m—hm, well.”

“You’d like it to be my grandfather.”

“Very much so, yes.”

Yugi takes in the gold of the box in Atem’s hands, his fingers curled around the corners and brushing the designs along the sides. Yugi takes in the chipped nails and the cuticles that are so badly bitten that there is blood along their edges. “I mean,” Yugi starts to say, “how many Japanese men can possibly be going around claiming to have gotten into an Ancient Egyptian tomb?” 

Atem’s smile seems to impossibly curl more around his check, the dimple deepening further than before. For a few moments the question hangs in the air, and remains unanswered. Then Atem opens his mouth to speak, but instead places the golden box down and turns back to his food. 

He fumbles for a few moments with eating his rice, trying to pick up several grains at once before he turns back to Yugi. “Would you mind if I,” he gestures with his right hand in almost a scooping motion, and Yugi has no idea what he is supposed to be taking for that sort of movement. 

“Yes,” he says, not without a terrible amount of confusion. “Or, I mean, no. No, I don’t mind.” And without further ado Atem picks up the rice with his fingers of his right hand, lowers his head slightly sideways and pushes the rice into his mouth with his thumb. Yugi has never so carefully watched someone eat rice before, and has never seen someone so frustrated with chopsticks that they instead used their hands. At least, not adults, he supposes. 

“Don’t like chopsticks?” 

Atem swallows before answering. “Not necessarily—I haven’t used them enough to know how I feel about them yet.” He looks down to poke at the pickled vegetables before continuing. “I’ve learnt how to use silverware while in Europe, but whenever I see rice I just think of my mother’s curries.” He carefully takes a few bites of the tsukemono before speaking again. “It’s honestly just easier to eat with your hands, I’ve found.”

Yugi perks up at the mention of curry. “Have you had any Japanese curries?”

“Haven’t had the chance to.”

“If you do, you should try a katsu curry.” While he’s speaking Yugi looks off past Atem’s shoulder and places a hand on his cheek, sighing wistfully. “Jii-chan used to make this wonderful curry with Matsusaka beef. I wonder if I could convince him to make some…?” 

“Yugi, I really don’t want to impose—”

“Nonsense!” Yugi interjects, and rather forcefully at that. “Who doesn’t like a good curry?”

“As I understand it, curries are rather expensive here, what with their association with the British.” 

“Why the hell are we listening to a couple of kids talk about curries?” Yusei grumbles out besides Judai, not even trying to be quiet. Judai splutters incoherently for several moments, all the while the scene behind them dissolves back into the white muslin and the low-set chabudai. Yugi blinks up at the other two, his silvery brows furrowed in confusion.

“Ah, I got,” a sheepish hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and the high flush on Yugi’s cheeks trails down his neck in spots. “Distracted.”  

“If you don’t mind me asking, Muto-san, but who exactly is Shaltout Atem?” 

“Why, the original owner of the Millennium Puzzle.” He says with a flourish, brandishing the pyramid forward.

Yusei interjects. “I thought that he had a box of, uh, golden puzzle pieces? Not a pyramid?”

“Why do you think I’m calling this a Puzzle, Fudo-kun?” The capital “P” in Puzzle can be heard by how Yugi emphasizes the title. Both Judai and Yusei look down at the unwieldy hunk of metal in Yugi’s hands. 

And then, the pyramid is a pyramid no more. With deft fingers Yugi pops out the Eye of Wadjet and then deconstructs the structure, pieces of gold cascading around his hands the more he takes it apart. They watch on, Judai with his mouth hanging open like an unhinged joint, and Yusei almost dropping the camera perched on his shoulder, and in what feels like no time at all the table is littered with glittering pieces of gold. 

“The puzzle pieces…?” Yusei breathes out. Yugi hums in answer. 

“We never actually put this together until we got all the pieces, and it always… fought us, when we were originally trying to put it together.”

Judai perks up. “Fought you?” 

Yugi rumages among the pieces before seemingly picking up a few at random. But when he puts them together they slot in with disarming ease. He proffers the connected piece to Yusei and Judai. “Your turn.” His smile doesn’t quite curl as much as Atem’s, but the ghost of Atem’s dimple and smirk seems to hover over his face for one fleeting moment. 

“Right,” Yusei says as he puts down the camera equipment and settles down at the table. “How hard could it be?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspirations: The film Millennium Actress. While I enjoyed it I felt that with characters that were already known and loved the plot could have had more impact/emotional resonance. Instead of being a sort of played straight film rewrite except with YGO characters, this became me putting all my self-indulgent HC's while just basically continually going on tangents that happen to get moved along when I remember the movie plot. 
> 
> Can't claim any regular updates because I'm writing this with what is years of depression slowing me down while also juggling work for my physics Ph.D. If you got to this A/N I'm sorry to say this is my only YGO fic. Got into it briefly way back when, never wrote fic, came back years later and felt like writing something. I do have ideas and some stuff written down for a post-Ceremonial Duel pre-DSOD rivalshipping fic, but not enough is typed up to really post as a coherent chapter yet. Sorry about that.
> 
> Also x-posted to my ff.net under the same title.


End file.
